


Nerves

by BecauseFanfictionThough



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Oswald Cobblepot - Freeform, Smut, oswald - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 21:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6536896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseFanfictionThough/pseuds/BecauseFanfictionThough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're nervous when you audition to sing at Mr. Cobblepot's club, and he takes it upon himself to calm you down. (First chapter is pretty tame, smut then ensues)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Standing there in the center of that stage, you have no idea why you’re so nervous. You’ve played plenty of gigs before, and with this being just an audition, the lounge is empty. But there it was, that feeling in the pit of your stomach that had your hands shaking just a little bit. The door in the back of the room opens abruptly and a tall, thin man with dark hair in a neatly pressed suit comes limping into the room. He’s late, which was part of what has you so on edge. Waiting is always the worst part.

“Name?” Mr. Cobblepot asks, barely looking up at you when he reaches a booth halfway to the stage.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat before replying, “Y/N”.

“And you’ll be singing?”

“An older number. It’s called ‘Let There Be Love’.”

Still, he hardly looks at you as a server hands him a drink and he scoffs, “Let me just warn you, miss, we have tried that style of music before. It was not exactly a hit.”

You’ve been in Gotham long enough to know you always need backup plan. Until this point you’ve had on a long cardigan that’s tied at the waist, but based on Mr. Cobblepot’s disinterest, you decide it’s time for your fallback plan already…just to get him a little more focused on you. So you untie the cardigan and let it drop dramatically to the floor. Mr. Cobblepot looks at you, his eyebrows flying up to meet the wisps of black falling over his forehead.

Standing there in your strapless red, sequin dress that just barely covers your behind, you grip the microphone and lean close to it. “We’ll see. Hit it, boys,” you say to the band, and the intro starts. You sway your hips slowly to the music.  
Confidence. Just be confident. Guys in this town eat that shit up, you tell yourself.

But still, your hands shake, and your voice does too just a little, at first. “Let there be you…let there be me…” You stare directly at Mr. Cobblepot, your eyes locked on each other’s. He has pushed his drink aside to lean forwards on the table. A small smile has creased one half of his mouth. “Let there be wind…and occasional rain…”

You’re nothing short of shocked when Mr. Cobblepot waves a hand, signaling for the band to stop , which they do immediately. He stands and makes his way to the stage, directing you to put your cardigan back on, which you do. You’ve made a fool of yourself, you realize. You start towards the stairs to leave the stage, willing yourself not to start crying before you get outside.

“Miss, one second. You stay. Everyone else out.” He pauses, waiting for everyone to obey. When nobody moves, he starts to lose his temper. His lips tighten and be says louder, “Everybody out!”

Now everyone listens. You hear them all shuffling out as you stare down to the floor, clutching the cardigan around you.  
“Mr. Cobblepot—“ you begin as he starts up the stage stairs towards you.

“Call me Oswald, y/n. Now stand at the microphone.” You do as your told. “You didn’t need to wear that dress, you know. You have a very lovely voice.”

“Thank you Mr—um…Oswald.” That damn lump in your throat returns as he steps closer to you.

“I want you to try something. Something my mother showed me. She loved to sing.” Oswald positioned himself behind you, placing his hands on your upper bicep and holding gently as he leaned in closely towards your ear. “Close your eyes, forget I’m even here,” he instructs, and you do so as best you can. But it’s imposdible to forget he’s there when you can feel him breathing. It’s tickling your ear and neck and now you’re not shaking from nerves. At least not the same kind.

“Now,” Oswald continues, “You are going to sing, while I hum along. Mother always said it worked wonders for her to imagine someone softly humming to her when she was nervous. I find it to be a sufficient means of calming down as well. So come on. Let’s hear it.”

You breathe deeply while trying to ignore the fact that he’s so close that his nose has just brushed the back of your ear and something about that small, obviously accidental gesture still makes your heart jump.

“Let there be you…Let there be me…”

Oswald joins you now, in a soft and low hum. He’s right, you quickly find. There’s something about that low growl in your ear that makes it feel like everything inside of you is starting to melt. But you also find you’re no longer shaking. Oswald can apparently tell because he releases you, stepping back. Your voice falters then and he smiles at you.

“Excellent. I do think we might have space for you to do a show tomorrow night. Just watch your nerves.” Oswald starts back towards the stairs to the stage. He pauses just as he reaches the bottom of them. “Oh, and…wear that dress.”

You stand there, still trying to get your head straight as you watch the limping man head towards the exit. You’ll wear the dress tomorrow. You’ll wear whatever he wants you to, you say to yourself.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your nerves are back right before your first show. Good thing Oswald is there.

When show time comes the following day, your heart is rattling your ribcage with a fury that feels like it’s trying to break through. Those damn nerves are back with a vengeance even though you don’t go on for another forty five minutes. You’re wearing the red sequin dress just like Oswald requested, and now pin a red flower into your hair to match. You stand, adjusting your breasts to show as much cleavage as you can and blowing out a sigh. You’ve never worn the red dress for shows. Just auditions that might not go well. It’s not that you hate your body it’s just intimidating to be so exposed in front of so many people. But if wearing the red dress will pay the bills on your studio apartment then wear the red dress you will.

A knock on your dressing room door tears your eyes away from your reflection. 

“Come in!” you call.

The door opens to reveal Oswald in his usual suit and purple tie. His tight smile is in place as he enters the room, closing the door behind him. He walks up behind you, looking at your reflection in the mirror like you just were. You try not to smile as you turn to face him. How someone with such a prominent limp can still look so charming, you have no idea. He ‘s a little less than a foot away from you. He’s close enough that you can feel him—feel the heat radiating off of his body.

“You look divine,________,” Oswald tells you, his smile broadening to show his teeth as his eyes glance down. You swear you can feel his stare too. Feel it travel down your neck and over your collarbones. There’s a tingling that creeps through your stomach when you see his eyes hesitate on your breasts peeking over the top of the dress. Then he moves on, past your waist and your hips to your legs.

“It- it’s not too much? Or, rather, too little?” you ask when you finally remember how to speak again.

“Not at all. In fact…” your heart lurches when he reaches into his suit and pulls out a slender switchblade. A sane human being would be scared, so why does that gleam in his eye make you excited, you wonder? Teeth still showing, he’s leering over you like the Big Bad Wolf before he devours Little Red, and you’re nothing but thrilled by it. “Do you mind if we add a slit to it? Just a small one, on the thigh.” When he speaks his voice is calm. Soothing even, probably because he knows the knife might have scared you. “Some of your songs might be a little too slow. And your voice is beautiful but, we want to make sure there’s something for everyone to enjoy.”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s fine,” you nod.

“May I?” Oswald asks permission before touching you as he slowly drops down to one knee, babying his bad leg.

“Yes,” is all you can manage before his hand finds the back of your right thigh and presses against it, prompting you to bend your knee and push it towards him.

Oswald releases your leg and grabs onto the hem of the dress, sliding the knife underneath it just an inch or two up. You can feel the cool metal of the dull side of the blade graze you as he stabs the knife through the dress, pulling towards him to make the slit. He studies the small tear in the dress and shakes his head. “I want it a little but bigger, is that okay?” 

Again, you nod. He presses his palm against the back of your thigh again. He doesn’t need you positioned like this, you fully realize. He could have done it with you standing normally. So why do it? You blush, your cheeks trying to match your dress, because in the back of your mind, you know why.

As if he can read your mind, Oswald, instead of pulling his hand away from you this time, trails his fingers down the back of your thigh to your knee, and then back up the side of it. You tense when his fingers reach a point high enough that he surely must know by now you’re not wearing any panties under your little red dress. His hands moves again, from the side of your thigh to the front. Until now you’ve been too entranced to even think, let alone protest. But as he starts to slide his hand back down, his thumb brushes the slightest bit against your sex and this snaps you awake. You gasp, stepping backwards and bumping into the vanity table.

Oswald drops the switchblade, surprised by your sudden movement. He looks embarrassed, an expression you’ve never seen on his face before. He starts to blush and, after standing back up, he can’t seem to meet your eye.

“I– I do apologize. I sincerely apologize. I don’t know why I—I mean, of course I know. I just don’t typically act in such a manner. It was terribly rude of me. A gentleman doesn’t ever force his hand on a lady, and I swear—“

“It’s okay,” you finally manage to get a word in edgewise. Just a few simple touches on your leg has a moistness forming between your thighs. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you didn’t enjoy it. “Really, I’m not mad or anything. You just surprised me, is all.”

“Really?” Oswald looks up at you. His embarrassment has been replaced by something else you’ve yet to see in his eye before. A needy glint: lust. He steps closer to where you stand with your behind pressed up against the vanity. Oswald nods to the table. “Sit,” he says simply, and you obey, sliding back so your sitting on the table.

His hand finds your thigh again and rests gingerly on top of it. It’s as if he’s just testing, to make sure you won’t break. You part your legs, ever so slightly in response.

“Are you nervous still?” he asks you.

“A little bit, yeah,” you respond with a smirk because you know where you two are headed.

“Do you want me to help you relax again?”

“Yes.”

Oswald leans in close to you ear, starting to hum your audition song like he did the night before. Only now his hand is underneath your dress and between your legs. One of his fingers has found your slit and traces it slowly, up and down. Mr. Cobblepot’s humming sounds like it’s becoming harder to keep up as his breaths get deeper.

You want him. You feel like your ready to go insane as he teases you. He stops humming to take your earlobe between his teeth to nibble at gently. You gasp again at this, your body stiffening slightly. That’s when Oswald finally gets bold. His finger lubricated by your wetness, he presses forward and enters you. Your hands find his shoulders and your nails dig into his suit jacket as he begins to pump his finger in and out. He uses his thumb to find your clit and applies pressure as he adds a second finger to your pussy.

He nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing hard and occasionally biting at your delicate flesh as he starts to move his hand faster. After only a few minutes you can feel your orgasm rising up. Oswald must be able to feel your walls tightening around his fingers- or maybe it’s just your incessant moaning- but he pulls his head up to lean his forehead against yours. He looks into your eyes intently with those two icy blue pools of his. His look is stern, and determined, and intense. His free hand tangles itself in your hair.

“Cum for me. Cum for me right now,” he says in a slightly shaky tone.

That’s all it takes for your body to clench around his fingers as you begin to shake, cumming for him just like he ordered. 

“Oh my god!” you whimper, hands gripping his shoulders even tighter. 

He waits, just like that with your heads pressed together, until your orgasm has subsided and you’ve calmed down .It’s only then that Oswald kisses you on the forehead and then slides his wet fingers out of you. No sooner has he pulled some tissues out of the box behind you on the vanity than is there a knock on the door.

“Boss, you in there?” a voice calls.

“Yes, Gabe. I’m here.” Oswald rolls his eyes like an angsty teenager and you can’t help but giggle as he hastily wipes his fingers off.

“Is it safe?” 

At this, you slide down off from the vanity and Oswald takes two steps away from you for the sake of appearances. Mr. Cobblepot informs the man that it is, indeed, ‘safe’ and the door opens. A very tall, very wide man stands on the other side. Lines crease his chubby face and gray streaks his hair in a few places.

“Mrs. Bertinelli is here, sir. She’s lookin’ for you,” Gabe reports.

“Ah, yes. Mrs. Bertinelli, I’ve been expecting her. If you’ll excuse me, Miss. _____,” he nods to you curtly before hurrying past Gabe, out the door.

Gabe doesn’t follow, however. He stands there, sort of studying you before saying, “You be careful.”

Any good feeling you just had floods out of your body. You stand taller, furrowing your eyebrows and asking defensively, “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Penguin ain’t been himself since his mother’s…accident. Been lookin’ at women a lot more, and talking to ‘em. Old, young, single, married. It don’t matter. Never knew someone like Penguin had it in him to…ya know…seduce or whatever. Creeps me right out.”

You hardly hear the last half of his sentence. Your mind stopped on the word “married”.

Mrs. Bertanelli, you think.

“Nobody’s seducing me. We were just talking,” you snap at Gabe. “And I’ve hardly even said a full sentence to the man. I think I’ll be alright. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a sound check.” 

You try to brush past him, but the large man shifts slightly to the side and is blocking your way.

“You looked like a schoolgirl that just got her first kiss when I opened this door. I’m lettin’ you know for your own good. You seem like a nice girl. Take the money and run, don’t go lettin’ him get ahold of you askin’ you to lunch in a week.”

You scoff, shoving past Gabe now. You’ve heard enough. “That’s unlikely. Nothing happened,” you tell him again and then head towards the curtains. Peeking out, a few people linger around the bar, but the real crowd hasn’t shown up yet. At the booth where Oswald started your audition, you see him sitting with a dark haired woman. She’s older than you, but still gorgeous. A jolt of jealousy flies up from your stomach, into your throat.

It was nothing, you decide, what happened in the dressing room. It was nothing at all.

Just to be sure Oswald knows that as well as you, you seek out the band leader and tell him you’d like to change your set list.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enraged with Jealousy over Oswald's actions you've made a surprise change to your set. You're intent to show Oswald just how little he means to you.

The lights are bright and you have to squint at first when you enter onstage. As your eyes adjust, a lone whistle echoes from the back of the room. The laugh is met with a few chuckles. If you weren’t already so mortified still over your talk with Gabe you might even blush. The band starts up and you pull the microphone from its stand. You couldn’t let Oswald think you’re some pathetic little girl who was stricken with him. Everything in you wanted him to see you being wanted by anybody else. It wasn’t jealousy. It was pride.

“Never know how much I love you, never know how much I care,” you begin to sing, your voice is smooth and sultry as you sink into the role of seductress. You’re too determined to be scared of the crowd. You look directly at a man sitting in the front row as you go on, “When you put your arms around me, you give me fever that’s so hard to bear.” You head to the stage stairs, strutting down them confidently when you get to the chorus. “You give me fever, when you kiss me…” There’s a group of gentlemen sitting at the table closest to the stairs and you head towards the big guy at the end of the table. Again, you make eye contact. He’s seated sideways in his chair. One arm is on the table, holding his glass, the other is draped over the back of his chair, which leaves his lap wide open. “Fever when you hold me tight.” You turn your back to him, lowering yourself down onto his leg. You sing to the rest of the table from your perch, “Fever! In the morning. And fever all through the night.” When the big guy moves a hand to grip your hip is when you stand, moving out of his reach and onto a new table.

As you work the crowd you occasionally glance back at Oswald’s table. A glass of bourbon in his hand, his lips are tight and he’s unamused. You don’t care if you never get to play his lounge again. It feels damn good to see that look on his face.

The crowd loves you, even when you aren’t grinding on strange men’s laps. At the end you head to the bar. You were told before the show your drinks for the night would be on the house. You take a seat at the end of the bar, occasionally tapped on the shoulder by people complimenting your voice. You thank them politely and sip your wine.

It’s not until your third glass of wine that a hand falls on your shoulder that you’ve become unfortunately well acquainted with that night. You don’t bother looking at Mr. Cobblepot. You simply raise your glass to your lips.

“I don’t believe that was the set list we had outlined together,” Oswald says as he takes the seat beside you. You shrug his hand off of your shoulder.

“It’s not polite to leave your date alone.”

Oswald chuckles and you look over at him, raising an eyebrow an eyebrow. He says, “________, I think you’re mistaken. Mrs. Bertinelli is simply…an acquaintance.”

You down the last of your glass and then set it down possibly a bit too hard.

“Well she’s very lovely. And I hope the two of you have a nice evening.” You stand from your seat. You turn away but have another thought and turn back. “Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Cobblepot.”

Oswald does not stop you from leaving. You go to your dressing room to collect your jacket and then take you’re leave. You expect to see Oswald still at the bar, maybe still sulking, but he’s not. He’s back in his booth with Mrs. Bertinelli, laughing and smiling.

Your eyes start to water when you get outside. It’s not that your heartbroken, obviously. You just met the man yesterday. But you’ve never been used like you were tonight. You take off down the street as quickly as you can in your three inch high heels. You make it about two blocks before it starts to rain like it does so often in Gotham. It’s one more block before a car pulls up beside you. The driver’s side door opens and out steps Gabe.

“Can I help you?” you ask as he walks around the car.

“The boss saw it was rainin’ and told me to give you a ride. Get in please, Miss.” He reaches the back passenger side door and holds it open for you.

You stare at him, squinting through the rain dripping down your forehead. Gabe stares straight back. That timid girl you entered the lounge as proves to still be in you somewhere because you give in first. With an annoyed sigh you walk towards the car. Gabe looks furious. You continue to glare up at him as you sit down in the car. As luck has it, you should have looked into the car first. By the time you realize Oswald is beside you, handing you a towel, it’s too late. This is probably why Gabe looked so disgruntled, not just the rain.

Oswald clears his throat loudly when Gabe returns to his place behind the wheel. Immediately a divider begins to rise between Gabe and the two of you. You want to reach for the door but the car lurches into motion before you can.

“Your jacket is soaked. You should take it off,” Oswald says.

“That’s a real original line. How much soft core porn have you been watching?” You snap back at him.

He’s taken aback, to say the least. When he gathers himself there’s a fire in his eyes. Oswald drops the towel and grabs your wrist, pulling you across the seats to him. His mouth is only a few inches from yours when he lets you go.

“Don’t think just because a few drunk idiots whistled at you that you’re too good for me now.” Oswald’s voice is low and threatening.

Your eyes narrow and you try to match his tone. “Don’t think you can make a fool of me just because you miss your mommy.”

He slaps you so fast you don’t see it coming. Your cheek stings so badly and your eyes start to water again without you meaning for them to. There’s a moment of stunned silence where both of you seem to be trying to comprehend what just happened. And then his hands are cupping your face, pulling it to him and you’re not pulling away, even though you know you should be. When he can tell you’re not going to run away from him, Mr. Cobblepot reaches down to unzip your jacket and push it off of your shoulders. Your dress has made its way up your thighs already. Your hands find Oswald’s trousers and quickly undo his belt. In a moment you have his pants undone and pushed partway down his thighs.

His erection is already straining against his boxers and you feel a rush looking down at it. As your hand slides over the lump in his boxers he reaches over and grabs a handful of hair at the back of your head, making you kiss him again. Your lips press together roughly and Oswald takes your bottom lip between his teeth briefly, eliciting a quick moan. He presses his forehead to yours just like earlier, when he had his fingers buried inside your wet tightness, and stares into your eyes.

“Take out my cock,” he orders. You don’t know what it is about Oswald that turns you on so quickly and makes you hang on his every order, but you reach into his boxers, wrapping your hand around his thick cock. It’s so much bigger than just his fingers. Imagining it inside of you almost seems scary. You free it from his boxers and hear him sigh as you start to stroke it. He still has his forehead pressed to yours. “Now be a good girl, and suck it.”

He releases you and you get down on your knees on the floor of the car. In the tight space, Oswald has to push his pants and boxers all the way off and swing his leg over your head. With one leg on the seat and one on the floor, he’s exposed to you with his balls resting on the seat.

You start at the base, sliding your tongue from the base of the underside and slowly drag it up, almost to the tip but not quite. You do this a few more, agonizingly slow times before suddenly wrapping your mouth around the head. “Come on, ______,” he groans. Your tongue moves in a circle around the head, only stopping when you feel Oswald grab your hair again. “Open your mouth,” he demands. You do as you’re told and Oswald pushes your mouth down around your cock. He groans as his cock pushes against his throat. He moves your head back and forth on his hard dick, and you moan around it, gripping his thighs. “Yes…yes…” Oswald groaned. He begins to thrust upwards and lets you control your own head. He pushes into your throat and your eyes begin to water. You pull up, coughing and trying to catch your breath.

The car lurches and there comes three knocks on the divider. Without hesitating you dart to the door, climbing out of the car as you wipe a bit of saliva from the corner of your mouth. Before closing the door you lean down and sneer, “You look so tense, Mr. Cobblepot. You should find some way to relax.”

Not even caring about your jacket, you close the door, leaving Oswald unsatisfied and wanting you.


End file.
